Sixteen Sequentially Unsatisfying Years

Sunday, two-thousand and twenty,

Though, Always setting on the twelfth.

Sadness sweeps over sleep

Uneasy shudders shatter

Unextinguished embers.

And He’s been fucking gone

for so fucking long—

My Father.

A Not-So-Sweet, Sixteen

Years of grief, disbelief

And now… She’s fucking gone.

My Mother.

I’m smothered by

Seriousness, mixed with Sauvignon.

Soundly sinking

Into the storms.

One thought on “Sixteen Sequentially Unsatisfying Years

Add yours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Website Powered by

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: